Land of Maidens
by Nightdew
Summary: Ever wondered who Legolas' mother was or how she met his father? This is my take on it...
1. A Star Shines

_This is my version of the love story of Legolas' parents. It doesn't exactly go with Hidden Treasure, but it does take some of the ideas I had when writing that a little further. "Land of Maidens", by they way, is the literal translation of Dorwinion._

Chapter 1. A Star Shines.

"Will you not go below, my Lady?"

"Nay, Galion, Rílaisseth answered. "The jewels of Elbereth are bright in the heavens tonight. In gazing on them is a peace more restful than sleep. I shall watch here until the rising of the morning star. But you may rest, as you will. There is no need to guard me."

The Green-elf touched his forehead and went back to his post by the casks. Doubtless he would sleep, lulled by the heady scent of the gardens of Dorwinion. Ríliasseth smiled, fondly. Galion had always been so loyal.

She looked back to the starry heavens, as the small Elven crew steered the ship silently up the Carnen Celduin. The same stars would now be reflected on the glittering surface of the Sea of Rhûn. Would her brother be looking out over them tonight? Would he be counting them and praying to the queen of heaven that her embassage would be successful?

They had shone thus on that night several weeks ago, as she and her maidens had danced on the seashore. Ríon did not like his sister going there alone, with no escort of archers. He feared what might come from the mountains. The Elven community they governed together was small and isolated, vulnerable to attack. So Rílaisseth had not been entirely surprised to see warriors emerging from the forest, bows in hand. She paused and turned to face them with a sigh, as the waves gently lapped the backs of her slim ankles. Her brother was as dear to her as she was to him, and she could understand his over-protective nature, but sometimes she wished he would trust in her abilities a little more.

"Your Elf-lord has sent you to protect me?" she asked the foremost archer, with a raise of her eyebrows.

"To summon you, my Lady," he replied.

"To summon me?" she repeated. "For what purpose?"

"He would not say, my Lady. I believe he seeks your counsel."

It was intriguing, and potentially important, enough to halt the dance for one night.

"Come!" she called, turning to the Elf-maidens who stood about her. Let us return together. Come, Lothiel!" she said, taking the arm of her closest handmaiden.

Lothiel leaned her head against Rílaisseth's shoulder and a second maiden took her arm on the other side as they followed the archers into the trees.

"Let us sing as we go," said Rílaisseth and, instantly, the woods resounded with a beautiful music, the high, haunting voices of the maidens blending in bittersweet harmony with the melodious tones of the archers. The song continued until the paths opened out and they came to the city at the heart of the forest. On a hill, overlooking the many vineyards, which were the pride of Dorwinion, stood Thamas Laeg, the green feast-hall of the Elves. Here the party halted. Rílaisseth dropped her maidens' hands and ran up the stairway to the carven balcony where a familiar figure was waiting.

"Ríon!" she exclaimed, embracing him. "What is it this time, that detains me from the whisper of the waves and the kiss of the silver sand?"

Her brother cradled her pale cheek in his hand.

"Something quite unlooked for," he said, "although much hoped for. A visitor has arrived."

"From Imladris?" she cried, hopefully.

"I cannot say," answered Ríon, his fair brow furrowed. "He is not of the Eldar. His beard is long and he walks with a staff."

"Then he is one of the Edain?" she said.

"No. I think not. It is hard to say what he is," her brother replied. "There is more about him than he chooses to reveal. But he is good, _guren nîn_!" he said, seeing the worried look on her face. His eyes were gleaming with excitement. "Come and see for yourself. Then you will know, as I do. A star shines upon this hour."

And he led her into the hall.

* * *

_Imladris_ Rivendell

_Edain_ the race of Men to which Aragorn belongs

_guren nin _my heart


	2. The Grey Pilgrim

Chapter 2. The Grey Pilgrim.

The visitor was certainly different from anyone Rílaisseth had seen, even with the long experience of the Elves. He was dressed in a long, grey robe and cloak, which looked as though he had slept under hedges in them, and he doffed a blue, pointed hat as Rílaisseth entered the room.

"_Mae govannen_," he said, in the Elven tongue. "Well met, Lady of Dorwinion. I trust you will forgive my unannounced arrival, but your brother tells me you are in need of counsel, and that is my business – counsel and friendship. And a good wine!" he added, his eyes sparkling mischievously beneath his bushy eyebrows.

"If it is wine you seek, then you will find no better than here, though you seek a thousand years," said Ríon, proudly. "Galion! Fetch a jug of King's Table, if you please."

Few ceremonies had been retained in Dorwinion since the Last Alliance. The brother and sister had no inclination to rule at a distance, and it made little sense, since they were the only ones of a higher blood who had not fallen or departed. But the tradition of King's Table remained; the potent vintage was reserved for royalty and their guests alone. Rílaisseth hoped their present guest truly was a connoisseur, or a few drops would have him reeling.

It seemed there was nothing to fear. He nodded his approval to Ríon, whose noble face beamed with pride. Rílaisseth had never seen her brother so contented. The burden of government had fallen on him unexpectedly when those not born to die had been slain. He was still young by the reckoning of the Elves and, though his wisdom increased daily, Rílaisseth could see how much he valued the presence of another counsellor, even this mysterious traveller.

"What should we call you, _mith randir_?" Ríon asked.

"Mithrandir will do," the stranger replied. "The grey pilgrim, yes, that will do very nicely. Long will be my pilgrimages ere my work is done, no doubt."

He seemed to be speaking as much to himself as to them, but suddenly he stopped and fixed the Elves with his bright eyes.

"But now to your business, Lord Ríon, and to yours, my Lady Rílaisseth. And it may ease your heart, my Lady, to know that I have been in Imladris, although it is not from there that I come. I have no home, and to each race of Middle-earth equally I lend my wisdom, for their troubles do not concern themselves alone, although it my appear so to them."

"Truly spoken," Rílaisseth answered. "Although the sorrows of the Elves cannot be understood with mortal minds. But our present trouble may be apparent to all. We are small in number and, unless we make alliance with more powerful kindred, the peace of our realm is threatened. Wicked men multiply in the East like orcs and there are rumours of trolls in the mountain regions."

"Our warriors are valiant," Ríon continued, "and few can match their skill with the bow, but they are too few. The risk of being overcome is too great." He sighed. "Sadly, Mithrandir, we have become estranged from what remains of our kindred since Gil-galad fell. We fear we must barter an alliance. We had thought to send to the Golden Wood. Have you been there in your travels, grey pilgrim? They say a great power resides with the Lady Galadriel, and well we guess what it is, although our lips are sealed."

Mithrandir knit his brows and took another sip of wine.

"If you will permit my opinion, my Lord," he said, "it is not to Lórien you should look, but to Greenwood. Ships on the River Running could easily connect your two realms. Moreover, King Thranduil's power is not insubstantial. His woods are still the greatest in Middle-earth."

"But they darken," said Rílaisseth. "Every flying bird speaks of it. The Elves have retreated to the north and, outside their borders, evil creatures multiply. Surely the Woodland Realm is as needy as our own."

"All the more reason for you to approach Thranduil now," said Mithrandir. "Besides, I think you underestimate him. He has allies – Men of Dale, and Dwarves who labour to build him a fortress after the style of the Woodland Kings of old."

"Dwarves!" scoffed Ríon. "That will not last. Whoever heard of Elf and Dwarf living in harmony? As soon as their work is done, the friendship will end, and not amicably, mark my word!"

"That may well be so," said Mithrandir, stroking his beard, "but to Thranduil you should look nonetheless."

"He will expect treasure," said Ríon, forlornly. "Alas, the ancient treasures of Dorwinion are now carried far beyond the sea. And, if you do know Thranduil as you claim, Mithrandir, then you will surely know of his greed for treasure. You remember him, Rílaisseth?"

Rílaisseth did remember. He had visited their realm many summers ago with his father, before the war against the Dark Lord. He had been young then, barely 400 years old, fair and golden-haired, with melting eyes of blue-grey. The maidens of Dorwinion had lowered their eyes before him, although she herself had been too young for such things at the time. But two things she remembered about him – he loved treasure and he loved the wine of the King's Table.

"I remember, _guren nîn_," she said. "But, as we have no treasure to speak of, we must seek to win his approval with our wine, which our guest here can surely vouch for, and which could become the basis of a more continual arrangement than a mere payment of gemstones."

"You speak wisely, sister," Ríon smiled.

She looked to the pilgrim, but he seemed engrossed in the wine-bowl and said nothing.

"I believe our council is almost ended" them said Ríon. "It only remains for us to choose which of our people will go to Greenwood on our behalf."

"That is not necessary," said Rílaisseth, softly. "I shall go myself."

* * *

_mae govannen _well met

_mithradir _grey pilgrim

_guren nin _my heart


	3. Foreboding

Chapter 3. Foreboding.

Ríon did not want her to go. Rílaisseth could see that the moment she opened her mouth. But she also knew that he would not cause dissention in front of their guest, who seemed, she thought, to show approval at her offer. He said nothing, but nodded and smiled with twinkling eyes and – could it be? – gave her a sly wink when Ríon wasn't looking.

He did not stay at Thamas Laeg for more than one night. At the rising of the sun, the Elves found him wrapping his mud-spattered cloak around himself and taking up his wizened staff.

"Leaving so soon, Mithrandir?" said Ríon.

The pilgrim turned to the tall Elf-lord with a slight bow.

"I must away," he replied, "to the land of the Halflings in the distant north. The dear, simple creatures!" he half-chuckled. "They have no inclination what goes on beyond their own borders. None at all! And I intend to keep it that way," he added, seriously.

"Farewell, then, grey pilgrim," said Ríon. "May a star shine upon your path."

"And may we meet again," added Rílaisseth.

"I'm sure we shall, my Lady," said Mithrandir. "I'm sure we shall."

It was not at this point, however, that Ríon chose to voice his concerns, but on the night before the delegation departed. The casks of wine were on board ship and all was prepared for the voyage. Rílaisseth had just come from speaking to Lothiel among the vines, leaving instruction for the care of her beloved gardens in her absence. Ríon was standing beneath a tree in the moonlit courtyard. He stepped towards his sister urgently as she approached, his shining eyes sad and troubled.

"Rílaisseth, do not go," he said.

She gently stroked the tips of his silky hair.

"Do not fear for me, brother. I do not travel without an armed escort this time," she said with a smile. "And Galion goes with us. He will let no harm come to me, or to his beloved wine! Indeed, I do not imagine he will let either of us out of his sight!"

"It is not an attack that I fear," he said, uncertainly.

"You fear failure, then?" she asked. "You doubt my skill as a negotiator?"

"For you, sweet sister," said Ríon, fondly, "the stars would shine at midday and the mountains remove themselves to the sea."

"Then there is nothing to fear," she smiled. "I shall secure Thranduil's favour and our home will be protected."

Ríon touched Rílaisseth's cheek with his long fingers.

"My heart forebodes me nonetheless," he sighed. "Something tells me that, if you enter Thranduil's realm, you will never return."

Her brother's words still echoed in Rílaisseth's heart as the river carried the ship away from the starlit expanse and under the dark and oppressive trees, which were the borders of Mirkwood. The branches reached down like fingers towards the mast and the eyes of the sailors looking back at her glowed like eerie lights in the darkness. Rílaisseth shuddered. The great forest had indeed darkened and well deserved its new name. She heard the creak of bows beside her, as arrows were fitted to the string in readiness for attack. Perhaps she ought to go below. It would be safer. But she felt her place was here, keeping watch with her people, for whose sake she undertook this dangerous journey.

"Are you afraid, my Lady?" whispered a voice behind her.

"No," she said, bravely.

And, at that moment, with the clear vision of the Elves, she saw, leagues ahead of them on the river, the town of Esgaroth on the Long Lake. The night lamps of the mortals bobbed warmly on the ends of the quays. The little houses were tucked up in the comforting blanket of night. The town slept in peace, unaware of the Elven ship, which would silently pass it by in the first rays of morning. Rílaisseth fixed her eye on it and smiled.

"No," she repeated. "I am not afraid."

And the ship sailed on towards its destination.


	4. Halls of Stone

Chapter 4. Halls of Stone.

"Get out of my sight!" roared Thranduil. "And name not those longbeards in my presence again!"

It was not a good day to approach the Elvenking on any subject. The Wood-elves who had espied their southern kindred from afar and helped them disembark now cowered before the doors of his glittering new throne room as yet more messengers were thrust from his presence. The Dwarves who had completed the magnificent underground dwelling, and much metalwork besides, had suddenly departed, and not empty-handed. A cursory inspection of the vault was enough to confirm the Elves' deepest prejudices. As Ríon had rightly predicted, a feud was looming, and the fury of the King ready to be unleashed on anyone unfortunate enough to cross his path.

"You must announce us," said Rílaisseth gently to the escort at her side, attempting to conceal the impatience and nervousness she felt at the long wait. "He cannot turn away his own kindred, when they come bearing the gifts of the vine."

The green-clad Elf seemed uncertain about this, but he opened the great door and announced, in an almost unfaltering voice, "the Lady Rílaisseth of Dorwinion."

Rílaisseth looked intently at the figure on the throne as she and her companions entered the pillared hall. It was tall and stately, and the face had all the beauty of the Sindar race, but it was not the face she had seen in Dorwinion all those years ago. There was a coldness to the eyes, a grimness to the mouth, which had not been there previously. She sought to read the heart in the features, but she could not.

"Well met under leaf and branch, maid of the Land of Maidens," said King Thranduil, dispassionately. "Is Ríon of Rhûn so enamoured of his vines that he must needs send women to do his work for him?"

"Certainly not!" exclaimed Rílaisseth, flushing with an annoyance she fought to quell. "My brother and I hold all things equal. My word is as his."

"Is that so?" the King replied. "Then what word have you come this distance to speak? I hope you bring me solace in this dark hour."

"I do indeed," said Rílaisseth, smiling as she felt her power in the situation growing. "For I bring both a proposal and a sample of our very finest vintage."

She nodded to Galion, who brought forth two silver bowls of King's Table.

"Shall we drink together," she said, "that we may seal our friendship of sweeten our discourse?"

"We shall," Thranduil replied. "A seat for the Lady!" he called. "You may dismiss your servants," he added.

Her servants! Rílaisseth felt her heckles rising again. These are my people, my friends, she thought. I risk all for their protection and he dismisses them as so many discarded twigs!

"Please, take some rest," she said uneasily to the southern Elves, but she fought to keep her voice steady, and was not unaware of a slight glimmer of amusement in Thranduil's cold eye.

In spite of his grimness and fey mood, Thranduil proved surprisingly amenable to Rílaisseth's proposal. His approval of the wine was obvious, and he even offered to take on Galion as a wine steward once the agreement was complete. Rílaisseth was less than comfortable about this suggestion, and she was sure Ríon would not be pleased to lose his personal attendant so easily either, but she kept quiet for now. The subject could be broached again later, as she had agreed with the King to stay in Mirkwood until New Moon, so that all could be organised for the shipment of wine to begin.

"A star shines upon the hour of our meeting," Thranduil said. "My new palace has wine cellars built with easy access to the river, perfect for the execution of our plan. Come! I will show you. Then you will see with your own eyes the marvels of these halls, the greatest since the Elder Days, albeit that they were delved with the assistance of those-" He muttered something Rílaisseth was relieved not to have heard.

Thranduil offered his arm and Rílaisseth took it primly. She did not feel she could warm to her northern kinsman, nor to his halls of stone. Although the artifice which had fashioned pillars in the likeness of living trees (complete with birds and beasts) and lamps in the likeness of the stars of heaven, was truly breathtaking, she longed for the sea breeze on her face and the scent of ripening grapes. Perhaps she allowed his earlier abruptness to cloud her judgement but when, on completion of the tour, the King asked her opinion of his Elven halls, she replied:

"I like them not. It is a dark day indeed when Elves must forsake the woods that bore them and take to the rocks like Dwarves. Ingenious though they are, I beg leave to quit them and be taken to lodging among my companions in the open air."

For the first time, she saw a genuine expression on Thranduil's face, and almost she wished she had not spoken so harshly. But he merely bowed and said:

"As you wish. I shall find you apartments in the Summer Palace."


	5. Melting

Chapter 5. Melting.

The Summer Palace – Thranduil's previous residence – proved to be exquisite. It stood far from the ground on a platform between four enormous beech trees, and the windows of Rílaisseth's apartment looked towards the rising sun. Thranduil had housed all the Dorwinion Elves there together, according to Rílaisseth's wish, and had sent an Elf-maid named Gwilwileth to attend to any more feminine needs she may have.

The negotiations were going well. Between matters of business, Thranduil seemed intent on impressing Rílaisseth with all the glory of his Woodland Realm. He escorted her along its flower-strewn paths. He showed her its outposts and watchtowers. She was invited to join him as he rode out to hunt, mounted upon a swift and fiery steed. He had the seat of an Elf-lord and an intuitive understanding with his beast, which Rílaisseth was, for some reason, surprised to see. He never again mentioned his underground halls in her presence, except when necessity forced it, and for this she was somewhat ashamed. Perhaps she ought to have apologised. She could see for herself the heightened vigilance of day-to-day life in Mirkwood; it was greater even than that of Dorwinion. Scouts made reports to the King several times a day and there was a constant production of new arrows. The halls were a necessity, and one which had been met with great care and loving attention to detail. But Thranduil remained cold and aloof, and somehow an opportune moment never presented itself.

On the second week, the Elves made a journey downriver to Laketown. Rílaisseth had little experience of dealing with mortal Men, but it seemed the Mirkwood Elves already had several arrangements with the Men of Dale regarding food and drink, and cargo on the river. Thranduil was a wise and accomplished negotiator. The Men obviously feared and respected him, and Rílaisseth found little difficulty in making her requests understood. Their King was more than happy to do business with an Elven princess from the south. The matter would be concluded soon. Rílaisseth was glad. She longed to get back to Ríon, to inform him of the success of her mission and rejoice with him.

As the small, grey craft made their way back into the forest, Thranduil turned to his guest.

"You will stay until the Gates of Summer?" he said.

"That was not our arrangement," faltered Rílaisseth. "I promised to stay until New Moon and no longer. I must return to my brother. He will be anxious to know how matters here have gone."

"Some of your people could return and inform him," said Thranduil. "You could return later. The will be little time to prepare for the feast at home by the time you arrive. Here you can celebrate it at leisure."

"My brother would be even less pleased to see my escort return without me!" said Ríliasseth. "We travel together or not at all."

For a moment, the stern Elf-lord seemed less certain of himself. She thought she saw something of the melting quality in his eyes, which had brought blushes to maiden cheeks in a previous age.

"Then please stay," he said. "All of you. I can send doves as messengers to Ríon. Unless you hate my Woodland Realm so very much."

"I do not hate it," aid Rílaisseth, more gently. "I will be your guest a little longer."

The feast arrived with a vibrancy of green leaves and a delicious scent of new flowers. Ríliasseth and Gwilwileth danced hand-in-hand with the other maidens beneath the soft summer stars. The songs of Dorwinion were joined with those of Mirkwood. Wine flowed; golden harps were plucked; the woodland folk made merry.

These woods were no longer so gloomy, Rílaisseth thought. As she looked at the many fair faces, illuminated by the festive lanterns, she felt a sense of belonging, which extended beyond her own home. Thranduil's folk had made her very welcome. She had walked and talked with many of them during last few weeks and felt concern for their precarious situation, and admiration for their success in repelling the darkness. Now the two realms were allied, they were her people too.

Suddenly her eyes fell on the Elvenking, looking on from his decorated pavilion. She felt uncomfortable about the intensity with which he watched her, and turned her head away, only to see Galion by her side.

"Lord Thranduil had asked me to remain as his butler," he said. "What do you think Lord Ríon would say to that?"

Ríon! Rílaisseth's heart almost bled. She had scarcely thought of him all day; preparations for the feast had filled so much time. Her thoughts instantly returned to Thamas Laeg, where the selfsame feast would now be celebrated. Lothiel and her maidens would be dancing among the vines. The first cup would be presented. But her place would be empty. For the first time, Ríon would preside alone.

She waved Galion away and walked slowly into the woods, away from the merrymaking. Tears spilled from her eyes. Why had she allowed herself to be persuaded into staying? How could she forget Ríon for even one day?"

"Rílaisseth?"

The voice was so unexpectedly tender, that it took a moment before she realised it was the Elvenking who had followed her.

"Why do you weep when all around you are merry?" he said.

"I miss my brother," she said, as fresh tears flowed onto her pale cheeks. "I miss Ríon."

"You will see him soon," Thranduil reassured her.

"But he is my heart, my life!" she sobbed. "He is all to me and I to him."

"Then your brother is indeed fortunate to have your unswerving devotion," said Thranduil, suddenly unsympathetic.

"We are all each other has!" she cried, turning on him. "Since the war against Mordor, there is no other. The rest are gone. They are gone."

She wished he would hold her as Ríon did. She longed for the warmth of protective arms around her shoulders. But the King of Mirkwood turned away.

"I know," he said, hollowly. "I was there. I was there behind the banner of Gil-galad. Greenwood the Great emptied and a mighty force issued forth. For all the good it did."

"The people of the Woodland Realm fought valiantly," she said. "It is still remembered in the songs of my people. Fair and terrible they were, a great multitude, and they marched into battle singing."

"And came away silent, no more than a handful of leaves."

He turned back and looked her in the eye.

"They fell," he said and, at last, Rílaisseth recognised the face she had once known, the face of a young Elf-lord, open and vulnerable. Her hand hovered above his cheekbone, waiting to wipe away the tear that never came. Thranduil sighed deeply and then began to walk back towards his people, and Rílaisseth sadly followed him.


	6. Return to Dorwinion

Chapter 6. Return to Dorwinion.

The ship was ready to return to Dorwinion. The Elves of Mirkwood lined the bridge, which led to the stone halls, ready to salute its passing. Galion was among them. Rílaisseth had decided to let him stay; she was not sure why. As she looked back at the scene, an unexpected pang struck her heart, a sadness on leaving she had not expected to feel.

Thranduil had issued a formal farewell to his visitors. He now came to take his leave of Rílaisseth.

"Alas, the Elves of Dorwinion are more cruel than are the Dwarves," he said. "They walked away with treasure unbidden, but you flaunt treasure before my eyes, only to return it to the hand of another."

The burning intensity of his blue-grey eyes was more than she could bear. Her gaze fell. She placed her hand over his heart in token of farewell and she could feel it throbbing passionately beneath her touch. Seldom are Elves at a loss for words, but Rílaisseth could find nothing to say. She boarded the ship silently, and looked back as it sailed away downriver. The King continued to watch her until each faded from even Elven sight.

The light of a thousand stars found its mirror image in the water as the ship came home to haven on the shores of Rhûn. Ríon was standing on the beach, the stars a crown on the dark outline of his head. Rílaisseth held him close and kissed his cheek, but the reunion did not lift her heart as she had hoped. As they walked back to their feast hall, arm-in-arm, the Elves sang and danced beside them, but no song came to Rílaisseth's tongue.

"You do not rejoice in your success," said Ríon, worriedly, as they sat once more side-by-side under the green arches.

"I do brother," she said. She forced a smile to her lips but it did not reach her eyes. "Our borders are protected and we have made alliance with noble kindred."

"All is not well," Ríon persisted. "My foreboding remains."

She laid her head against his breast.

"It is passed, _guren nîn_. You feared I would not return from Mirkwood, but I have."

He raised her face gently towards his and looked into her starlit eyes.

"No, my sister," he said, sadly. "I am afraid you have not."

Rílaisseth was fading. Ríon could see it. The natural pallor of her complexion had dimmed to a watery thinness, through which the fire of her spirit glowed unnervingly. She was often on the seashore now, but not to dance. He made no effort to dissuade her, and she seemed not to notice the company of archers so often trailing her. Her keen eyes looked ever northwards, following the ships with their new cargo of wine, bound for Esgaroth.

"Why not go with them, my Lady?" said Lothiel, as Rílaisseth sighed and leaned her head upon the maiden's shoulder. "You yearn to travel where they are bound, I know."

"And if I should not return, what then?" Ríliasseth said. "It would break Ríon's heart."

"It breaks his heart now," Lothiel replied.

The two sat silently together with their arms around each other's backs. Suddenly, there was a great clapping of wings above them, and a flock of doves few swiftly out of the forest and up the course of the river.

"We are under attack!" cried Rílaisseth, leaping up. "Run to the city! Run!"

* * *

_guren nin _my heart


	7. Attack!

Chapter 7. Attack!

They took hands and ran like deer into the forest, their lightly shod feet barely brushing the fallen leaves. Far around them, on every side, they could hear the clear, ringing voices of the Elves:

"They are coming!"

"Archers, this way!"

"Make for cover!"

They reached the borders of the vineyards. Rílaisseth looked up into the sky and saw a black cloud upon the horizon, growing as it moved towards them out of the East. It was neither birds nor insects, but a mass of giant vampire bats.

"_Elbereth Gilthoniel!"_ wailed Rílaisseth.

Now most fervently did she wish for Thranduil's halls of stone. Where could they hide from such a foe, one that could seek them in the trees as well as on the ground?

"Quickly, my Lady!" urged Lothiel.

They ran on. Rílaisseth's heart was pounding, with fear as much as with exertion. As they reached the Elven city, Ríon was coming from the green hall with a small troop. He was armed with bow and spear, and his fair face was set for battle.

"Rílaisseth!" he called, anxiously. "Take the maidens to safety. A great evil is coming."

They both glanced towards the advancing horde.

"Some work of sorcery has affected this," muttered Ríon. "These creatures will not be alone." He looked at her. "I have released the doves. Let us pray that help arrives swiftly."

He squeezed her hand and marched on into the forest. Rílaisseth stood, uncertain for a moment. Then she called to Lothiel:

"Fetch everyone! Tell them to make for the storehouses."

The great wine stores of Dorwinion had extended in recent months, and their wide rooms were filled with newly made barrels, ready to be filled with wine and shipped to Esgaroth and beyond. As the Elf-maidens herded in, wide-eyed and panting, Rílaisseth called:

"Get in! Get in the barrels!"

There was hesitation among the maidens, but Rílaisseth repeated her command and turned towards the now closed door. She extended her hand and began to chant softly in the ancient tongue, singing to the wood that had once lived and grown, urging it to make itself fast against the foe that would now assail it. Her heart beat faster and faster as she concentrated. Her outstretched hand was now transparent. The last trace of colour evaporated from her face. Without the door, there was a terrifying scream. Rílaisseth gave a faint cry and collapsed on the ground.

She woke to an eerie silence. Vague memories passed like shadows across her mind - a clamour of war at a distance; a beseeching song to the starkindler close by. A warmth of many bodies had been near her; a touch of many feather-light hands on her face and body. Now the hands were still. The world was still. She opened her eyes. She was lying in the arms of Lothiel and all the maidens were out of the barrels and sitting around them, their shining eyes fixed on the door.

"What has happened here?" thought Ríliasseth. "Has Dorwinion fallen?"

Suddenly, there was a beating on the door. The maidens shrunk back to the wall. Then a clear voice called out:

"_Edro! Edro! _Open the door! We have victory!"

Victory! A sigh went round the room like the sound of seashells on a turning tide. To the left and right of Rílaisseth, maidens leaped to their feet. The door was thrust open and the storehouse was filled with the sound of voices and a confusion of jubilant embraces. And, somewhere behind the clamour, she heard a voice, crying:

"Rílaisseth! _Ai, Gilthoniel! _Rílaisseth! Tell me you are safe!"

A figure was pushing its way through the crowd. Strong, masculine hands were helping her to her feet. And then she was in the arms of one dearly beloved, who was kissing her tenderly, and she him. Yet it was not Ríon who she embraced, but another Elf-lord, tall and golden-haired, whose melting eyes were filled with love.

* * *

_Elbereth Gilthoniel _Elbereth Starkindler the Vala to whom Elves pray

_Edro _open


	8. Leaves of Green

Chapter 8. Leaves of Green.

"You will be happy here, _guren nîn_," said Ríon, gently stroking his sister's hand.

They were standing together on the bridge to Thranduil's underground halls, watching the river slip away into the autumn twilight. Rílaisseth smiled coyly back at him. The faint apricot blush had returned to her cheeks, and her fair hair still bore the bridal crown of berries and dried honesty.

"How could I fail to be happy," she said, softly, "with Galion and Lothiel near me and my Elf-lord at my side? But what of you, brother?" she asked, her face becoming serious. "Will you be happy when you return to Dorwinion? Had I remained there, as you asked, we would not be parting thus."

"Had you remained there," he said, "we would both be in the Halls of Mandos. Thranduil's force arrived just in time, sped by what wind I cannot imagine!"

He drew her to his side and she smelled the comforting vineyard scent in his silken clothes.

"You are protected, honoured and loved. You make both our kingdoms proud. That is what matters," he said. "And with our new trade in wine, we will always have news of each other. I shall be happy to know you are happy."

She smiled again as he hugged her. Then she looked up as the gates of the fortress opened and clanged shut again. Thranduil stood, a solitary figure upon the bridge, the habitual reserve of his features looking more like shyness than sternness now. Rílaisseth ran from her brother's side and impulsively threw her arms about his neck.

"So?" she teased. "What have you decided to do to the Dwarves this time?"

"I thought I forbade their mention in these woods," said Thranduil, with a strictness that rather seemed to waver.

She kissed him several times on the cheek, until a smile forced its way to the corners of his lips. Then she took his arm and held out her other arm to Ríon.

"Come," she said. "Let us walk together."

Over a year later, Rílaisseth was sitting with her maidens on the grass before the Summer Palace – or the Queen's Palace, as it was now known. Lothiel and Gwilwileth had fetched boughs of evergreens to twist into garlands. They sang as they worked, and Rílaisseth tenderly fingered the green leaves with a secret smile, pausing only to stroke the strange, new swelling beneath her Elven gown.

A rustle in the leaves, and the sound of a tread too heavy for Elven feet, made her look up. Great, black boots were crunching the seedcases, and a wooden staff tapped its way along, announcing the arrival of an unexpected guest.

"_Mae govannen_!" said the visitor, as he approached Rílaisseth. "Well met under branch and leaf, Lady of Mirkwood!"

And Mithrandir's eyes sparkled mischievously at the Elf-queen, as though he had somehow expected to find her here.

THE END

_guren nin _my heart

_mae govannen _well met

* * *

Sorry if this isn't quite as good as some of the others. (You have to remember I did all these LOTR fics a few years ago). I promise I'm saving the best for last!


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